The structure failed, the center could not hold;
A silent quake, and everything turned cold.
The sturdy walls of who I thought I was
Are now a pile of dust, without a cause.
A heavy blanket woven out of fear
Covers the ruins, thick and standing near.
I sift the shards, but find no guiding chart,
No blueprint left to mend this fractured heart.
The hands that once knew labor, strength, and grace
Hang limp and useless in this empty space.
I ask the silence, "What am I to do?"
But only echoes answer, "See it through."
Where does the strength reside, the will to stand,
When all I built has crumbled to the sand?
It's not in logic, not in forced command—
It's just a whisper, in this barren land.
It is the knowledge that the smallest light
Can cut the deepest, darkest, endless night.
It is the choice to breathe, to simply be,
And trust a truth that broken eyes can't see.
Faith is not knowing, but the gentle leap,
A promise made in hours spent asleep.
It's finding strength in one untarnished thing....
Perhaps the dawn, the way a sparrow sings.
You are not whole, not yet, but you are here;
Rebuild with hope, not stone, and silence fear.
And when the darkness presses on your soul,
Remember roots are reaching for a goal.
The mightiest oaks were once a fragile seed,
They broke their shells to answer to a need.
So let this breaking be a fertile start,
A softer landscape for a gentler heart.
The strength you seek is not the force of stone,
But the soft courage of a faith unknown.
Just lift one hand, and reach for what is true...
The quiet, constant light residing inside you.
The sun still rises, though your eyes may weep;
This heavy promise, you are meant to keep.
You will rebuild, though piece by weary piece,
And find within the rubble lasting peace.
The sacred work of living now begins,
Take one small step, and see where hope wins.
Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE "
Nov 20, 2025
Nov 20, 2025 at 8:01 AM UTC
🌹 Natalie's Light
From shadows deep where walls held fast,
Natalie walks, her prison past.
She breathes the air, so sweet and true,
A life rebuilt, vibrant and new.
She knows the pain, the stumble and fall,
And answers now when others call.
A beacon bright for those who seek,
The strength to rise when they feel weak.
She works with love, her spirit free,
Guiding souls to sobriety.
For all you do, and all you are,
You shine so bright, a guiding star.
I appreciate you.
Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE "
Nov 20, 2025
Nov 20, 2025 at 7:29 AM UTC
The Man Who Never Saw the Shine
He moves through rooms without a flourish, slow,
His posture easy, head held slightly low.
He catches glances that he doesn’t seek,
A kind of quiet wisdom on his cheek.
The silver tracing through his dark, curled hair
Is simply aging that he doesn’t care
To fight or frame—it merely is the truth,
Unaware it lends a luster to his youth.
The women watch him when he stops to speak,
A certain gravity, both strong and meek.
He hears their laughter, but he thinks it’s aimed
At something witty that the speaker claimed,
Never once assuming that the sudden flush,
The lowered eyes, the conversational rush,
Are merely mirrors of the charm he wears,
A handsome shell that carries all his cares.
When he looks inward, all he sees is effort,
The early mornings, struggles for self-comfort.
He finds the flaws, the wrinkles, and the scars,
The tiny battles fought beneath the stars.
He’s grateful for the health and strength he keeps,
But beauty’s pedestal is where he never sleeps.
His sense of self is built on work and trust,
Not on the fleeting currency of lust.
He thinks of "attractive" as a separate space,
Reserved for movie stars, for perfect grace.
If compliments arrive, he shifts and waits,
Dismissing them as pleasant social baits,
A kindness offered, nothing to receive
As genuine belief he can achieve
That high esteem the world places on looks,
He's much more comfortable with dusty books.
Yet, this humility, this simple lack
Of ego standing on the beaten track,
Adds to the portrait that the others draw.
His genuine surprise, without a flaw
Of vanity, becomes the final seal—
The truest magnet in his quiet appeal.
He walks in shadow, letting others shine,
Not knowing that his own light is divine.
And so he stands, a mystery complete,
A blend of peppered wisdom, strong and sweet.
A kind of man who never can possess
The easy confidence of loveliness,
Because he's focused on the world he serves,
Unconscious of the admiration he preserves.
The most attractive thing about his face,
Is the sweet burden of his humble grace.
Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE "
Nov 19, 2025
Nov 19, 2025 at 11:39 AM UTC
The body knows a silent, steady task,
Beneath the skin, behind the weary mask.
It stitches life together, thread by thread,
Ignoring all the frantic words unsaid.
The wound is not the surface, red and thin,
But the slow mending that begins within.
The sun still finds the pane, though days feel dim,
And light, impartial, settles on the rim
Of teacups waiting, untouched on the sill.
A fragile, quiet moment standing still.
This pause is not a weakness, but a grace
A resting moment in this hurried space.
You did the hard, impossible thing, you moved,
Through pain and sorrow, utterly unproved
To anyone but you, the warrior soul.
Now let the weight fall off, release control.
Let gravity reclaim the things you carried,
The burdens born, the heavy tasks unvaried.
The breath comes in, a slow and shallow tide,
A contract with the life you still reside
Within. This simple rise and fall of chest
Is proof the inner systems have not rest.
They battle forward, for the coming day,
Though fear and grief may try to lead astray.
Look not to tomorrow, or the week ahead,
But only to this hour in your bed.
The pain medication is a temporary shield,
Allowing ground that has been lost, revealed
To hold itself together, safe and whole,
A quiet respite granted to the soul.
Remember simple things: the sip of water clear,
The turning of the clock, the distant sound you hear.
Acknowledge every small step you achieve,
The energy it costs just to believe.
To walk a hallway, or to sit and eat,
These small acts make the slow recovery sweet.
The lost ones live in memory’s warm fire,
Their voices rise to meet your deep desire.
They are the reason why you must be strong,
To hold their story where they still belong,
Not as a weight to crush you with despair,
But gentle whispers carried on the air.
The scar you carry now, a thin, faint line,
Will fade, transforming from a brutal sign
Into a chapter closed, a trial survived.
A new strength in the muscles is derived
From giving in to rest, from being kind,
To what the body needs to leave behind.
It’s in the letting go the healing starts,
Releasing pressure on the breaking hearts.
Allow the tears to fall, allow the need,
And plant within the darkness a new seed.
A future where the lightness can return,
A lesson in the hardest ways to learn.
So close your eyes, and listen to the quiet hum,
And know the hardest, heaviest task is done.
The healing is the effort of the meek,
A gentle power, silent, slow, and unique.
Be patient with the self that seeks release,
And find the quiet moment of your peace.
Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE "
Nov 19, 2025
Nov 19, 2025 at 11:34 AM UTC
Just a puzzle piece blowing in the wind,
Fitting in and tearing out of the puzzle games,
Blowing while it's time the games end.
Nov 19, 2025
Nov 19, 2025 at 11:00 AM UTC
I used to paint
I used to love
One seems like i grew up
The other seems sad
I cannot decide wich
But i know i miss them both
But my brushes have been thrown out
My heart shattered
I cannot get them back
I do not paint
And i do not love
At least not anymore
Nov 19, 2025
Nov 19, 2025 at 11:00 AM UTC
Nothing can compare, when the word needs not to be shared.
Its expressions are felt, just in action, no doubt its there.
A simple jester, a smile,a touch of the hand.
The embrace, from a stranger, just go say i care.
It lifts us up, brings joy to your heart, moves the doubt, others perpetrators eyes reveal.
If you know, this precious gift, i write about, go show love, without word. It's felt.
Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE "
Nov 19, 2025
Nov 19, 2025 at 10:09 AM UTC
Inside a bottle, lives half of myself. Looking through the murky shadows of nothing left.
Longing for reconciliation with the half not pickled but free. The two are inseparable, yet are completely different, insanity.
Repeating over and over the dance of death. One in love with no one, the other only self.
Michael Powers
"STYXX ON FIRE"
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 10:35 PM UTC
Never, ever say the "H" word! Why?
If you ever have been compromised, by a low down ***** "H", then my pitiful companion, you know just how I feel.
The difference is, you very likely, will never know who,what nor when, The sad part is, that the one you thought that you could trust, pulled out there blade,cutting up, not just your privacy, but your throat.
Nothing can spare the sad soul from the dark hearted "Black Hat", your device they own.
To completely free ones self, from the ***** bastered, who smirked as your device became there slave, is a total factory reset, a new email address, phone number, sometimes, even your name.
It's never fun, when" The rabbit has the gun". Please heed my words, or just the same, you will remember this crappie poem, understanding just how I feel today.
May you never know my pain.
MICHAEL POWERS
"STYXX ON FIRE"
Nov 4, 2025
Nov 4, 2025 at 6:26 PM UTC
My dearest Mother, words feel thin and small,
To hold the depth of love I keep for you at all.
I miss your voice, your comfort, near to mine,
A constant ache for the solace that is truly fine.
You are a jewel, precious and bright,
A steady flame that burns through every night.
You built my world with tireless, loving hands,
The strongest anchor on life's ever-shifting sands.
I carry still the weight of every wrong,
The times my careless words or deeds felt strong.
For all the hurt I caused, the tears I drew,
I am so deeply sorry; I apologize to you.
And know that this expression, deep and true,
Is set aside, a "10 appointment" just for you.
It is my solemn, cherished time to say,
Your worth and grace light up my every day.
I see the floor where you knelt low in prayer,
Lifting my name upon the quiet, hopeful air.
Each whispered plea, each faithful, constant vow—
I feel the power of your blessings now.
From simple wisdom shared to sacrifice unseen,
The countless things you've done and where you've been
My guide, my shelter, and my gentle grace,
You carved the person I am in this place.
My heart is full of deep, unending gratitude—
For every lesson, every sacrifice, every good.
Thank you, my Mother. I appreciate you more
Than any soul could ever truly pour.
I love you, and I wish you every peace.
MICHAEL POWERS
"STYXX ON FIRE "
Oct 31, 2025
Oct 31, 2025 at 4:14 AM UTC